Insert humorous title here
by Lyra Silvertongue2
Summary: Data becomes fascinated with depression and wreaks havoc on everyone's psyche. Chain reactions are fun! Chapter ten's here! This chapter: Data's still searching for a way to get depressed, Riker finally takes the plunge, and a check-in with Dr. Crusher.
1. It begins

Disclaimer: I'm afraid that I don't own any of these characters, but I do like to make them do things at my bidding. Hee-hee-hee.  
  
"Insert humorous title here"  
  
Reginald Barclay was depressed. He just knew that he was terrible at his job, all of his friends hated him, and everyone was laughing behind his back. As he worked on a slight malfunction in the life support system in engineering (the thermal regulators were a little out of whack), he found himself stopping and looking distractedly down at the floor, his chin cupped in his hand, thinking about how terrible his life was. He saw feet passing by his station; the crew didn't care about him. Nobody cared about him. He was--invisible.  
  
Barclay sighed loudly and turned back to the computer terminal. Bright colors flashed in front of his eyes.  
  
The computer doesn't care about me, he thought. Nobody-  
  
"No!" Barclay said aloud, hitting himself upside the head. "Don't think like that!"  
  
"Lieutenant Barclay? Are you troubled? Perhaps I can help."  
  
Barclay looked up at Lt. Cmdr. Data, who happened to be on duty in engineering that shift. Data was looking down at him, in a concerned sort of way.  
  
At least one person is concerned about me, thought Barclay, sighing again.  
  
"It's nothing, Commander. I'm just--well, I guess I'm a little depressed," Barclay said. At this, Data looked ready to start on a long explanation of the reasons for human depression, so Barclay added quickly: "Maybe I'll see Dr. Crusher about it, though."  
  
"Ah. Very well. I hope that you feel better," said Data, and with that he quickly strode away. Barclay turned back to his terminal. It looked like it was going to be a long day.  
  
"Geordi." Geordi looked up from his console to find Data looking at him.  
  
"Yeah, Data?"  
  
"I am curious. Is it considered normal for a human to be frequently depressed?"  
  
Letting out a bit of breath, Geordi turned back to his console, after glancing towards the padd he had just received from one of his crewmembers.  
  
"I really don't have time to give you an explanation on emotion right now, Data." He paused, looking back curiously at his friend. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"I have just spoken with Lieutenant Barclay, who seemed to be having trouble concentrating on his computer console. He seemed to be sighing to himself, and often looking towards the floor. When I questioned him as to the reason, he responded that he was depressed, and that is was 'no big deal.' Is this normal?" he asked again.  
  
Geordi sighed. "Data, maybe you should ask me a little later. I need to concentrate right now."  
  
Data nodded and headed towards the exit.  
  
"Oh, but thank you for telling me about Barclay!" Geordi called out before Data exited the room.  
  
His duty shift in engineering over, Data headed down the corridor, thinking to himself. He recalled silently what had happened that day in engineering; what Barclay had said, how Geordi had responded to this seemingly 'ordinary' news of Barclay's depression. From what Data knew, depression was a serious condition and could possibly lead to suicide. He was determined to investigate. When Data got back to his quarters, he called up Deanna Troi's schedule for the day on his terminal. As it turned out, she had the next hour free. Hitting his commbadge, Data said:  
  
"Data to Counselor Troi."  
  
"Yes, Data?" came the response.  
  
"I wish to speak with you about something. May I come to your quarters?"  
  
"When?"  
  
A little confused, Data replied: "Now, counselor."  
  
"Oh- all right, Data. I suppose I'll find out what this is all about soon enough."  
  
"Yes, counselor. I'm on my way now. Data out."  
  
Data stepped out of his quarters and began to head to the Counselor's quarters.  
  
Sorry, but I don't have enough time to finish this now. This is my first real fan-fic, and I'd appreciate any comments or feedback you might have about it (encouragement, etc.) I plan to finish this really soon, and trust me, it gets a whole lot more interesting. Check back soon! 


	2. More people are affected

Disclaimer: For my disclaimer, please refer to the first chapter. Basically: I don't own the rights to any of this stuff.  
  
  
  
"So, Data, what seems to be so urgent that you had to see me * now *?" Counselor Troi settled herself in her chair and picked up a mug full of steaming hot liquid.  
  
"Counselor, it is nothing urgent, but…I am curious about this human state called 'depression.' I wish to learn more about it. I observed Lieutenant Barclay in this state this afternoon, but…I am puzzled. How can humans consider this behavior 'normal'?"  
  
"Well, Data, that's a good question, and I'm glad you asked. Humans-" she paused. "Humans, and many humanoid creatures might go through a 'cycle' during a certain period of time. For instance, a month, six months, a year, and so on. During this 'cycle,' their moods, or…or the way they see the world may change. Lieutenant Barclay is most likely just going through * his * cycle of moods and has reached the point where he is depressed. It's really quite natural."  
  
Data remained quiet during all of this, thinking. "If humans go through this 'cycle,' and I am modeled after humans, could it be possible that * I * have a 'cycle?'"  
  
"Of course, but I hardly think that your cycle would be quite as dramatic as the ones that humans go through! In fact, I think it would be quite subtle. So," she put down her mug "does this answer your question?"  
  
"Yes, counselor. Thank you. However, this matter requires further study. I think I will do that now." He exited without another word. Troi sat for a moment, considering the entire thing, anticipated Data's next move in his research, then went to send a message to Reginald Barclay.  
  
  
  
Geordi peered over the heads of the people chatting in Ten-forward. The computer said he was here, but-ah! There! Oh, he was looking out the window, not a good sign. Geordi slowly made his way over to Reggie Barclay, and sat down beside him.  
  
"Oh, Reg," he sighed.  
  
Barclay was drooped over completely, the picture of emotional upset: shoulders slumped, with his forehead and hands propped against the window of Ten-forward, staring out into space.  
  
"It's so empty, isn't it, sir?" he asked slowly, sensing the chief's presence.  
  
"What, space?" Geordi responded quickly. "No, I don't think so, really. I mean, it * is * full of stars, and planets, and ships, and even though it's devoid of air I think it's really quite full-"  
  
"No," Reg said dully. "Life." One of his hands slipped down the 'glass,' fell to the floor, then reached up to rub his nose. Then it resumed its position on the window.  
  
Geordi was eager to cheer up this officer, but he didn't really think he was that good at this sort of thing. "Aw, cheer up, Reg. I'm sure that things could always be worse."  
  
Reg sighed. Guinan took this opportunity to serve drinks (not ordered, but the right ones, as usual), placing them quietly on the table behind the two officers. Geordi picked up his drink and took a sip.  
  
"Come on, Reg. Tell me. What's got you down?"  
  
  
  
Tapping a final digit into the console, Data called to the computer,  
  
"Computer, run program Data gamma."  
  
He stepped inside and looked around. There really wasn't much to see. He walked to the chair that sat in the middle of the dark room and sat down. "Computer, show screen." A screen popped into view in front of Data and began showing him some very familiar images: pictures of Doctor Noonien Soongh, and of his brother, Lore. It also flashed some images of the lower points of his career in Starfleet, and a few random pictures of very sad things. "Computer, put in scent programmed." A breeze of chill air swept into the room, smelling mainly of dust. The air soon seemed overly cool and thin, and the room was clouded with a musty sort of atmosphere. There was just one more thing.  
  
"Computer, play sound file."  
  
Terrible music played in from all around Data. Few other people could stand it, he was sure. He had had to pull it out of one of the hardest-to- reach records of the Enterprise computer.  
  
Just then, Commander Riker walked in. He had been ordered by the Captain to bring Data up to the bridge for an urgent situation involving the climate of the ship (the ships engineers had all passed out because of the temperature in engineering, and the relief staff couldn't even enter that section of the ship), but Data had apparently removed his commbadge. It was, needless to say, a shock to walk in and find Data in a dim, musty room, staring at gruesome images on a screen, and listening to…well, to Riker it seemed that it was the only thing in the Holodeck that wasn't depressing.  
  
"Data! If I may ask, what are you doing in here, without a commbadge on, looking at these…rather disturbing images? Though I have to say, you can't beat the music."  
  
"Computer, terminate screen and programmed scent." The computer obeyed, and Data stood up and walked over to Commander Riker. "Sir, I apologize for removing my commbadge, but I did not want to be disturbed. I am attempting to stimulate depression."  
  
"Well, that would explain all that sighing you were doing when I came in. Wait. You were trying to stimulate depression in * yourself *?" Riker, still listening intently to the music, began to tap his foot.  
  
"Yes, sir, in myself. You see, I was observing Lieutenant Bar-"  
  
"Shh! Data, don't you know good music when you hear it?" asked Riker, snapping his fingers to the beat. "What * is * this stuff? I want to listen to this more often. You know, I like to play some stuff that's sort of similar to this. I-"  
  
"Sir, this music is a recording of * you *, six months ago. Or rather, a recording of your trombone."  
  
"Oh. Well that explains why I like it so much. Come on, Data, we have to get going if you're going to help us with the situation in engineering."  
  
"What situation in engineering must I deal with?" Data asked as they walked out of the Holodeck. He felt it quite fortunate that the First Officer hadn't put two and two together-that Data was using his music to depress himself.  
  
"Well, you see, Data, there was this….."  
  
  
  
"Come on, Reg. I think I know of a way to cheer you up," Geordi said, thinking maybe that this last desperate effort would in some way pluck up the engineer's spirit. He had been trying for the past half-hour to improve Reg's cheer, but to no avail. The officer was still down and out, and Geordi had already used his secret weapon: the grotesque Eskimo-eating platypus joke his mother used to tell him.  
  
Barclay stood up reluctantly and followed Geordi from the room, thinking that if the Chief Engineer didn't give up soon, * he * would.  
  
Geordi led Barclay directly to the Holodeck and positioned him in front of the doors.  
  
"Okay, get prepared to be…happy!" said Geordi hopefully as he pushed a couple of buttons. "Okay, go on in!"  
  
Barclay walked warily into the dark room, and Geordi watched him go in.  
  
That's funny, thought Geordi. I remember this program being very different.  
  
A few moments later, Barclay walked out red in the face and absolutely shrieking with laughter. He collapsed and slid down the wall outside the Holodeck, pounding his fist on the floor in his merriment.  
  
"I didn't-" he managed to get out between hysterical giggles. "know that * anyone * could be that terrible at playing the trombone!"  
  
  
  
The end. So what do you think? Please, oh please say that it's an okay start. And please write me a review. ( Your buddy, Lyra Silvertongue. 


	3. Cliffhanger!

Okay, here's my third chapter! Although I didn't really expect to be writing one. Anywho, disclaimer is: I don't own any of these characters, unfortunately. Please don't sue me, it's all in good fun.  
  
Commander Riker was depressed. He ran his hand through his hair as he watched Data rush from console to console in engineering (through a protective window, of course. It *was* hot as an oven in there). His trombone playing couldn't *possibly* be that bad…really…in fact, he had always thought of it as being *distinctly* good. Riker sighed and leaned back against a wall, turning his head upwards to look at the ceiling above him.  
  
I shouldn't be so offended, he thought. After all, Data *did* apologize.  
  
Who was he kidding? It didn't matter *how* many times Data apologized (Data had, in fact, apologized approximately 17 times on the way to engineering-once Riker had realized the offense, of course-and was as sorry as any android could be), Riker's ego would *still be damaged. Sighing once more, Riker turned back to the window. Data's face was inches away from his-his eyes were focused squarely on Riker's face. With a yelp, Riker jumped back.  
  
"Don't *scare* me like that, Data!"  
  
Data mouthed something behind the window and put on a confused expression. He reached up and pressed a button to the side of the window. It slid up. Data repeated what he had said:  
  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
  
"Uh, nothing," said Riker. He straightened out his uniform, regaining his composure. He cleared his throat, waiting for the android to say something.  
  
"I have finished, sir. The temperature in engineering has been returned to normal." He cocked his head, changing the subject. "Sir, you appear to be in the state that humans call 'depression.' I am wondering: could you please enlighten me as to why this is?"  
  
"Uhhhh, Data…I'd rather not talk about it."  
  
"Please, sir. I am doing a study on depression. I should like to hear your opinion about the matter."  
  
Riker was very uncomfortable with this situation. Damn it! Why did Data have to be so naïve?!  
  
I'm not about to actually *tell* him, thought Riker. I wish I could just leave.  
  
A new thought occurred to Riker: what if he *could* leave? That would at least end this awkward confrontation, although it wouldn't end his depression.  
  
"Well, Data, I, uh…I had better be getting back to the bridge. Lots of important things to do up there, you know."  
  
"The bridge? Then I shall be joining you, sir. My shift on the bridge starts in five minutes."  
  
Uh-oh. This situation seemed to be worsening.  
  
"Uh-on second thought…um…I have a bit of a headache. I think I'll go see Dr. Crusher about it."  
  
"A headache?" asked Data, switching gears. "Commander, I have had a great deal of practice alleviating headaches with just a touch on the skull. Perhaps I-"  
  
"No!" Riker started. Data had a backup for everything, didn't he? Sometimes it almost seemed like he was *trying* to be a nuisance. "No, Data, I think I'll stick to the conventional method, here. Tried and true medical care."  
  
"All right, sir." Data appeared unphased. "I will see you see you on the bridge, then."  
  
Data walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, Riker leaned against a bulkhead and sighed a breath of relief.  
  
"Commander Riker to bridge."  
  
"Yes, Commander?" Picard's clip tones answered.  
  
"The situation down here in engineering is all taken care of, but…"  
  
"But what, Commander? Is there some further problem?"  
  
"No, I'm just-I'm just a little depressed, sir." Riker spoke haltingly, rubbing his temple. "Maybe I should go see Counselor Troi about it."  
  
"Are you asking me permission for a…sick day, Commander?" Picard sounded slightly amused.  
  
Relieved, Riker answered: "Yes, sir. A sick day. May I take the rest of the shift off, sir?"  
  
"Of course, Commander. We can't have a depressed officer trying to man the bridge, now, can we?"  
  
"No, sir," replied Riker, almost laughing with relief. "Thank you, sir. Riker out."  
  
Then he set off in the direction of Counselor Troi's quarters.  
  
So there you have it. A cliffhanger. I'll be writing more as soon as possible, but, at this point, my fingers are numb. Please review! -Lyra, a.k.a. Merry. 


	4. Picard's in the picture now This can't ...

Whoo-hoo! I updated! Everyone should dance for joy now! Yeah, well, it's kinda short, but...deal. Hee-hee! Have fun! More to come if you review!  
  
***  
  
"So, Reg, uh…we shouldn't expect any more of these…outbreaks of depression, should we? I mean, you feel better?" While keeping up a quick stride towards the officer's quarters, Geordi tried to organize his thoughts. He wasn't quite sure what had cheered his friend up so quickly, but he hoped that it would have a lasting effect. Taking Barclay to the Holodeck had been really a last-ditch effort; Geordi had been about to give up after a rather tiresome half-hour of trying to pluck up the awkward engineer's spirits.  
"Oh, yes, sir!" Barclay was really perky, an unusual occurrence to say the least. One would hardly ever see Barclay happy, let alone downright chipper, as he was now. "Fit as a fiddle! Right as rain! I feel like a new person! I guess all I really needed was a bit of laughter in my life. To tell you the truth, sir…" Here Barclay paused in his steps, looking up at the superior officer. "I haven't laughed like that since I was a little kid."  
"Well, Reg, I'd say that you're cured of your depression!" The two of them resumed their walking.  
"I know, sir! Wow! I feel like a million bucks! I've never felt better in my life! I-"  
"We're here, Reg," Geordi interrupted him, smiling. They had come to Barclay's quarters. Reg turned around in a slightly awkward manner and stepped backwards through the door.  
"Thanks again, Chief! Wowie! I feel like-" the hiss of the doors closing cut his words off. Geordi turned to go to his quarters, chuckling lightly to himself. That whole exchange with Reg had shoved the fact that he still didn't know what Holodeck program he had activated into the back of his mind...  
  
***  
  
It was good that Geordi didn't know which Holo-program he had put on, because at that very moment, in Holodeck Five, Data was making a few...adjustments to it. His fingers moved like lightning over the buttons on the control panel, and there was a final Beep! as he entered the last piece of information.   
"Computer, run program." Once again, Data stepped through the portal into the Holodeck...only this time there was a very different atmosphere to his program.  
  
***  
  
Captain Picard tapped his foot in his impatience: the turbolift was certainly taking its sweet time in getting to Deck Seventeen. To tell you the truth, he was rather annoyed with his second officer. This was the second time in a *day* the android had de-activated his communicator. Mr. Data had a lecture on *responsibility* coming to him, at this point.  
Whoosh, hissss!  
*Finally.*  
Picard stepped out of the turbolift, paced briskly down the corridor, stepped inside the Holodeck...and saw something very...  
...astonishing.  
Attempting to remain unphased (but failing miserably at it), Picard took a step forward into the room. "Mr. Data."  
The android seemed very focused on the screen in front of him, and only glanced up for a moment to give him a brief nod and a "Captain."  
Blinking in astonishment, Picard took another step forward and tried again with a firmer "Mr. Data." This time   
Data looked up and kept his gaze on the superior officer. "This is the *second* time you-" He could barely be heard above the blaring trombone. "Computer, will you shut off that infernal racket!" The music seemed almost angry as it ended with an angry Honk! "That's better," Picard sighed with relief. He took a deep breath. "Twice is-" The Captain stopped and sniffed the air. "Is that Earl Gray tea?"  
"Yes, Captain. The scent of Earl Gray adds an aspect to my program which I had before thought impossible." He stood up. "The combination of the images on the screen, the trombone music, and the scent of Earl Gray-"  
Picard cut him off, inhaling deeply. "I find that aroma most relaxing on a particularly stressful day, don't you?"  
"I suppose sir. I-"  
"Data, what is this program for anyway?"  
"Well, sir, recently I was walking through Engineering-"  
"The short version, Lieutenant."  
"Ah, yes. The short version, sir. I have created this programming to help me induce depression. I wish to study it-" he stopped, realizing his commanding officer was no longer listening. "Sir?"  
It hit Picard like a ton of bricks. _He uses Earl Gray to induce depression?_ he thought in shock. _....Merde._  
Data watched in fascination as Picard looked around himself, his eyes out-of-focus. His eyes lingered on Data, but then he turned in a dazed manner and headed out the door.  
"Sir?" Data prompted again. The only response he got was a vague hand-wave from the Captain. The doors slid shut behind Picard, and Data raised his eyebrows, dismissing it, and turned back to sit in his chair once more.  
  
***  
  
Yay! Further twists in the plot! Heh, Picard can be such a dumb-ass sometimes (jk, jk, Picard's the best, yo). Well, whaddaya think? Funny? There is going to be something *really* silly coming out of this! Whoo-hoo! Oh, and, by the way, you have to read all the other stuff I have posted on this site, and you *have* to review. Just 'cause I said so. Lol, so there! 


	5. Now Counselor Troi's in on the deal

***  
  
Captain Jean-Luc Picard paced his ready room, so tense that if you had bothered him, right then, you would have been seriously injured before you could blink. Suddenly, he stopped, staring at the wall.  
"Merde," he said, and he meant it. Was Earl Gray really that bad? Was he really *that boring*? Eyes out of focus, he sank into his chair, not even realizing that he had crossed the room to get to it. His second officer. His own second officer...if one officer thought this way of him, it was more than likely that the rest of them felt the same. Picard thought back through the years, his mind whirling. All those looks...all the laughter that ceased when he walked into a room...had he been oblivious all this time?   
He could picture it now. The whole crew laughing at him behind his back. Every man and woman aboard the ship sending out their resumé to any place that could offer them a job, anything but the Enterprise, anything but Picard.   
"He really makes our lives...less *wholesome,*" he could hear them saying to the people interviewing them. "Sometimes I just wish he'd go back to his vineyard."  
Picard sighed deeply and pressed a few buttons on the keypad in front of him, calling up the Holodeck records. Twice today, and...yes, he was still in there. Who knew what the little devil was up to now?  
The Captain started. When had he started thinking of Data as a 'little devil'? What kind of Captain was he to belittle his crew, even if it was only in his mind? How long would it be before his crew began belittling *him* to his *face*? And did *anybody* like archaeology on the Enterprise? Picard fell forward onto his desk with a 'thump!' and continued to think extremely upsetting thoughts...until...he sat up and pressed his comm badge.   
"Doctor Crusher," he began...  
  
***  
  
"And I just get this feeling that nobody really *likes* my trombone playing," Riker finished. Counselor Troi, seated across from him, folded her hands on top of her legs, which were crossed in front of her.  
"Well, Commander, I really don't know *what* to say to you. The only thing I can think to say is that this problem will most likely repair itself in time, if you believe in yourself enough." _And if you *practiced* playing the trombone for once,_ Troi thought wryly. The Commander had come to her over an hour before, and had *just* finished telling her about the incredibly *shallow* problem he was having with his life. _Maybe if you were a little less self-involved, you would have noticed that *Data* has troubles of his own._  
"Oh, sure, Counselor, I believe in myself enough," Riker said a little smugly. "Couldn't you give me some *better* advice?" Troi started. Better? Was her advice not good enough? _Well, he doesn't know what he's talking about,_ she dismissed, but she didn't quite believe what she was telling herself.  
"You could, perhaps, do whatever it is you do to relax. For instance, you could play some poker...find something *else* to do," she winked at him, obviously insinuating something. It took him a few seconds, but he got it. "Anything that will help you forget about this *whole* situation," she said soothingly.  
He still looked doubtful. "Are you sure forgetting about it's the right thing to do? I mean, I should really work through my problems, don't you think?" _What is he trying to say? That I'm *wrong*? I can't be wrong. I've never *been* wrong! Well, there was that one time in the Jalara Jungle...maybe I *am* wrong about something. Maybe my whole career in *Starfleet* was a wrong decision._ A frown crossed over her face. _Maybe I'm no *good* at counseling. No, no, don't think that, Deanna. You were *right*. What happened to your control over your emotions, hmm? You used to be so good at that...wait a minute, *used* to be?! Perhaps the blockhead's right! Maybe I *am* losing my touch! Oh my God! I'm no good at *anything*. I....suck._ Troi felt herself slip into a deep depression, and silently cursed her menstrual cycle.  
Meanwhile, Commander Riker stared into space, still cloaked with his deep feeling of self-pity (the deepest *he* could feel, anyway). He was completely unaware of what the Counselor was going through, at least until he recovered from his stupor a few moments later and looked back at the Counselor.  
"What's the matter, Troi? You look a little upset."  
"Oh, shut up, Riker," she said bitterly, looking down at the floor. "Go torture someone with your music." Riker was astonished, but, managing to get the idea through his tiny brain that the Counselor was 'Out', he walked slowly out into the corridor. As he glanced behind him, he could see Troi heading over to her replicator, most likely to order up a hot fudge sundae. He began walking to the turbolift. Maybe some work on the bridge would cheer him up.  
  
***  
  
Hey, everybody! Sorry it took so long to update (I figured people had lost interest, but I guess I was wrong. ^_^). And I'm sorry this chapter's so short, but it's very important (*evil grin*). Now that I've been inspired again (yay!), I've come up with an entire nefarious plan for the crew of the Enterprise (*malicious laughter*). Hee-hee-hee, chain reactions are *fun*!  
Hey, and if you like this chapter, please let me know (*doe eyes, silly grin*), 'cause I love reviews!  
Note to Goldenclaw: Aren't ya glad ya kept checking back? Now there'll be something to read! (*lets out a genuine*) Huzzah!  
:O) 


	6. Oohhoohoo here's Worf

***  
  
He *wasn't* going to give up. After sitting for three hours in his Depression-inducing program, Data had yet to feel the slightest twinge of upset. If he had to, he was going to sit there all night long (Note: It's not like he needs to *sleep* or anything...).   
Every half-an-hour, on the dot, Data would make a minute adjustment to the Holo-program. If there was no effect on him after another half-an-hour, he would repeat the process. While making his sixth such adjustment to the program, Data began to wonder about his determination to see this project through. Why should he be so focused on this one idea? Answering his own question, the android spoke aloud into the chill air:  
"I have nothing else on my 'palette' at the moment. I ceased my activity in art because I found myself lacking 'inspiration,'" he told the wall. "My writing has been found to be, by many people, 'terrible.' I have played every violin piece in the data banks of the ship. My crewmembers are all increasingly 'stressed-out' with their jobs, as they say, and can find no time to spend with me." He cocked his head, blinking. "I can no longer observe Spot on a daily basis, as she is going through one of her 'phases,' and seems to prefer no company to mine." He stopped, and looked blankly at the corner for a few seconds. "Who am I speaking to?" He asked the room.  
"Sensors indicate that there is currently only one occupant of the Holodeck," replied the Computer. "Further analysis will require a-"  
"Thank you, Computer." The Computer gave off a soft beep in response, and Data sat down to continue his attempt at becoming depressed. "Activate changes in Holodeck program."   
  
  
***  
  
"Alexander, I will *not* tolerate this behavior!" Worf was furious. The last time Alexander had acted this badly was when he had tried to join the cheerleading squad for his on-ship school's soccer team. "Klingons do *not* sing in musicals!"  
"But Da-ad..." Alexander was whining, as usual. "It's The Pirates of Penzance! I'd be playing Frederick! Miss Jones says she can't put on the play without me!"  
"Who is this 'Frederick' character?" Worf growled. "Is he a - a *pansy* who falls in love, like last time?!" Last time had been the school's production of West Side Story. "Is he the pirates' *assistant*?!"  
"No! Well, sort of." Worf glared down at his son. "I mean! He's a pirate in the beginning!" This time Worf let out a low rumble of a growl. "But then he quits and falls in love and-"  
"I won't allow it!"  
"Please, Dad? Miss Jones said I would be perfect for the part, and I-"  
"No! I do not care what Miss Jones said, you will *not* be perfect for the part! Now - now go to your room and think about this!" Alexander burst into tears.  
"You're the worst Dad ever! I hate you! You never let me do *anything*!" He took off, whining and crying all the way. If it had been possible for him to slam the door to his room, he probably would have. Unfortunately, he couldn't, but the doors closed with a ferocious-sounding hiss anyway.  
Worf punched the wall as the doors closed. Alexander could be so frustrating! It was almost like he didn't want to act like a proper Klingon! From experience, Worf knew exactly what to do in this situation. He had to call for help. But not just anyone's help. He needed the help of someone who was quite possibly the best person to deal with the situation. He needed the help of Counselor Troi.  
Tapping his commbadge, Worf barked out: "Lieutenant Worf to Counselor Troi."  
"Yeah, what is it this time, Worf? Can't deal with your own problems?" Worf hesitated for a moment, unsure if he had actually *heard* the Counselor insulting him.  
"Counselor," he rumbled. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that. In fact, if you were any other person, I would kill you where you stand."  
"Ha!" Came the reply. "Shows what you know, I'm sitting!"  
Once again, Worf ignored it. "Counselor, I am having a problem with Alexander. He is being...difficult."  
He could hear the Counselor sigh on the other end of the link. "Worf, you are such a goddamn homophobe," he could hear her saying softly. More loudly this time, she said, "Worf, I have an idea. How about this: you shut your stupid trap about your problems and go...go take a bubble bath!"   
"Counselor, I am not sure what you-"  
"You heard me! Go run yourself a bubble bath! 'Cause I'm sick and tired of hearing about all *your* stuff!" Troi burst into tears on the line. "What about *my* problems?! Nobody *likes* me anymore! I'm not even a competent Counselor!" She took a few minutes to collect herself. "Troi out," she sniffled. The commlink terminated.  
Lost for words, Worf merely sputtered in anger for a few moments, then considered what to do. The Counselor always gave him sound advice in these areas, but she had seemed so...well, perturbed. Unless...well, perhaps this was some sort of test. Yes, that was it. A test. To see if Worf could handle people crying. Well, Worf was up to any test. He was a Klingon! He had pride!  
He knew what he had to do. Treading softly so Alexander wouldn't hear him, Worf headed towards the bathroom to draw himself a bubble bath.  
  
***  
  
Lieutenant Barclay was having the happiest day of his life. _In fact,_ he thought to himself. _I'm practically skipping for joy!_ After waking up and having his favorite meal for breakfast (Boiled chicken, just like Mom used to make!), he headed back down to Engineering and proceeded to do the best duty-shift of work he had ever done! Throughout the day, engineers were warmed by his cheerful smile, and clapped him on the back as he worked. Of course, a few of them *had* seemed a little depressed, but why should he care? He wouldn't let them rain on *his* parade!  
Near the end of his shift, Barclay noticed that the Chief of Engineering seemed a little stressed.  
"Hey, what's wrong, Geordi? You seem a little down," Barclay said, his smile as bright as ever.  
"Oh, it's nothing, Reg, I'm just stressed out. First there was something wrong with the Atmospheric Regulators yesterday, and now there's something up with the spacial-gravometric readings outside the ship. It's throwing our distance-time telemetry readings out of line. That's all."  
"Well, sir, maybe you should take a little break," Barclay suggested. "Try the Holodeck! You know, that program that you sent me to yesterday. What was that, anyway?"  
"You know, I really don't know. But I think I'll try that. Thanks, Reg."  
"Oh, it's no problem, sir! Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get to work on that distance-time telemetry problem." Barclay didn't even notice the look that Geordi was giving him as he walked back to his work station. It was one of supreme confusion.  
  
***  
  
Huzzah! I'm back! Now...review! No flames! :D 


	7. Anyone up foryou guessed it: more depres...

***  
  
"Picard to Commander Data," Picard said lamely. This was to be his first action in a day. He had given Riker total command of the Enterprise...not that there was much to do. At that very moment, Riker was probably snoozing in the Captain's chair on the bridge...not that it mattered. Picard himself was lying facedown on the couch in his ready-room, having been awake all night thinking about how *incredibly* cruel the Universe was. He had his arms draped over the armrest on one end of the small couch, and his feet were propped up on the armrest at the other end. His chin was placed not-so-delicately in between his arms, and he was staring fixedly at the floor. Picard waited numbly for his third-in-command's response.  
"Data here. Is something wrong, Captain?"  
"No, no," he lied dully. "Everything's just peachy up here. Tell me, Data. Are you still in that *blasted* Holodeck?"  
"Yes, sir. Why do you ask?"  
"You are? Well, get the hell out of there, Data, and give someone else a bloody chance to use it! It wasn't built for your exclusive use, you know."  
Data was taken aback. "Yes, sir. I will leave the Holodeck immediately, sir. I apologize for any offense I may have caused anyone, and I-"  
"Oh, shut up, Data," Picard mumbled into the armrest. "This is all your fault, anyway. Picard out." Rolling over onto his back, Picard found that the light in his ready-room was too bright for his eyes. He squinted up at the ceiling angrily. "Computer, lights." He had to restrain himself from throwing curses at the Computer. "Merde," he said again, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last time he said it.  
  
***  
  
Geordi rubbed his temple underneath his visor. _Boy, has it been a long day. I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't be this stressed out._ Sitting down on his bed, Geordi began to remove his visor (he didn't usually wear it in his own quarters, since he knew the place inside-out), but then thought better of it. _Hey, maybe Reg is right. Maybe I *should* try out that Holodeck program. It sure seemed to make *him* feel better._ Facilitating his usual brisk stride, Geordi made his way down the corridor to the Holodeck. Once he reached the door, he asked the computer a few quick questions, and managede to call up the same program he had used on Barclay. For some reason, he had started one of Data's programs. Stepping inside, Geordi was greeted with one of the strangest things he had ever witnessed.  
The entire room *reeked* of something particularly pungeant. _Say, isn't that Earl Gray tea? I thought the Captain liked that stuff._ There was a giant screen floating in the air, with nothing to back it, and on which there was playing a series of images faster than Geordi could blink. Various people were positioned around the room, and they were all speaking at once. _Let's see...Noonien Soongh, Lore, Worf's dead parents, Alexander's dead mom, Lwaxana Troi, Riker's Dad, and...wait...isn't that Dr. Crusher's dead husband?_ He swiveled his head so he could see what was behind him. Nothing much, except for... _Mom?_ Geordi's eyes widened as he saw his missing mother standing in the corner of the room, speaking to the chair in the center. _What the-_ Riker's awful trombone music was playing in the background of all this. The room was chaotic.  
Geordi stood stock-still, staring at his mother in disbelief. "M - Mom?" She continued speaking to the chair. Geordi didn't know how long he stood there, watching his mother talk, before he realized the way that everything appeared in the room. _It's all configured to the...to the wavelengths of my visor..._ "Computer, end program!" Geordi shouted above the din, unable to bear it any longer. Immediately, the room fell silent. Everything was cut off in mid-hijink.   
Settling into his depression, Geordi was only able to manage: "Some friend *Data* turned out to be," before he turned around and headed to his quarters, planning to live in blindness for awhile. On his way out, he knew he had to do something about his upset, so he tapped his commbadge.  
"C - Counselor?" he stuttered.  
"Ugh. What, Geordi? What is it this time?" Troi sounded repulsed. "You don't think you're good enough to be Chief Engineer? Nobody cares about you because you're blind?" she mocked. "No woman will ever go out with you? You have no friends? Nobody likes you?" Geordi could hear her rolling her eyes. "Puh-lease. Go bother someone else about it. Because *I* don't care." There was a tap from the other end, and then silence. Geordi stood still for a moment, deciding something. Then he picked up his brisk stride once more and headed for Ten-Forward.  
  
***  
  
"Is the Doctor in?" Dr. Crusher looked up from her computer to see Commander Riker standing in her doorway, looking around cluelessly. Smiling fondly, she stood up so he would notice her. He did, though it took him a minute.   
_He really *is* just like a lost puppy._ "What can I help you with, Commander?"  
Without waiting for an invitation, Riker spun a chair around and straddled it, facing her desk. For some reason, he looked a little perturbed. "Doctor, I've been feeling really depressed for some reason, and I was wondering if you could help me."  
"Well, that's really Counselor Troi's area of expertise, I don't know if *I* can-"  
"Been there, done that," said Riker, annoyed. "I don't know *what* to do. I've tried *everything.* I talked to the Counselor, but *she* didn't know what to do. I talked to a young, female ensign...in a manner of speaking, and I tried gathering all the guys together for a game of poker, but apparently, they were all busy...nothing works. I'm still as depressed as ever. You're the last person I can turn to."  
_Wow, way to make a person feel good, Commander._ A little annoyed now, Beverly said "Well, the most *I* can do is give you an antidepressant."  
"What, you mean happy pills? I don't want to be giddy, Doctor."  
"They're not happy pills," she said, getting a little pissed-off. "It's just an injection to make sure that you don't get too depressed. I can prepare a hypo-spray for you in a few seconds. Do you want one, or not?" she said coldly.  
"Yeah, sure, whatever," he said.   
_Your vote of confidence overwhelms me.(Note from author: I wanted to say 'inspires,' but everyone else says 'overwhelms,' so it seemed weird)_ Crusher didn't know why she had such a short temper that day, but for whatever reason, she was getting incredibly pissed-off at Riker. _Maybe it's the long hours. Yeah, that's probably it._ She really *did* have a good idea of what the reason was, since it was always floating at the back of her mind...a certain young, whiny brat (Note: Oh, come on, you know what I'm leading to).  
Crusher snapped the hypo-spray into place and inject Riker before he could change his mind. "Come back in a few hours and tell me how you feel," she said shortly. Riker just rolled his eyes, rubbing his arm. Not even bothering to say good-bye, Riker stalked out of sickbay. Beverly sat back down at her desk with a huff. _Well, sorry for wasting *your* time,_ she thought sarcastically. It took a great deal of effort to force herself to get to work again.  
  
***  
  
Yay! Everybody's jumpin' on the boat! Thank you for my *two* reviews (no, really: I *am* grateful, I was just hoping for more). And, don't worry, y'all, I have great plans for this story. Sometimes...it just takes me a little longer to update, that's all. Y'know (*giggles, acts sheepish*)...  
Well, more reviews will get you more story, if ya know what I mean...  
:D  
As always, no flames, please! 


	8. And just like that, even more people got...

***  
  
Wesley was adding the finishing touches to something he liked to call "The Button." It was perfectly designed, proportioned, and just generally perfect in every way...much like Wesley himself. "The Button," in short, was...*magnificent*. And Wesley knew just what to do with it. He was going to-  
"What the heck is *that*?" Wesley looked up in all his perfect splendor to see someone standing in the classroom doorway: Wanda. Wesley had had her picked out months ago as the perfect mate for a perfect man. The only thing he had to do to get her was woo her. And that, he was sure, would be easier than it was to *blink* for such a perfect specimen as himself.  
"I call it 'The Button,'" he said, vastly proud of himself. "Just something I've been tinkering with for the past few days. Nothing to get too excited about." He hopped down from the second platform of "The Button," making certain to show off his perfect physique. "I was just adding the last piece of the neutron accelorator and giving the plasma drive a tweak. You know, no big whoop."  
Wanda rolled her eyes at him. Could he get *any* more pathetic? _Come on, Wanda. This is *Wesley* we're talkin' about here. Of *course* he can get more pathetic._ "Listen, dweeb. I'm downright sick of being nice to you. I'm going to tell you the truth: you are a dork. You have always been a dork, you are presently a *really* big dork, and you will always *be* a dork. Understand?"  
Wesley blinked. _Does that mean she *doesn't* want me to push "The Button?"_ he thought blankly. _Wait a second, did she just call me a *dork*?! No way! I'm too - I'm too *perfect* to be called a dork!_ "That's it," he said, pissed off. "I'm not pushing 'The Button' for *you,*" he whined, on his way out. He knew *just* who to see. His mom. She always provided him with the ego-padding that he needed. Wesley headed for the turbolift.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, in Ten-Forward...  
  
***  
  
Guinan was trying her very best to maintain her usual look of quiet dignity and knowledge, but her temper was running short. For one thing, Data had been sitting in the corner of the room for quite awhile now, downing synthehol at a speed that only an android could achieve, even though he *knew* it wouldn't do him any good, considering that a) he was an android and he couldn't get intoxicated, b) synthehol couldn't get *anyone* intoxicated in the first place, and c) he couldn't even taste it anyway! For *another* thing, Lieutenant Barclay had come in a half an hour ago and was bugging the *crap* out of her with his over-the-top cheer. At the moment, he had gathered a group of crewmen together in the *other* corner of the room and had launched into a spirited account of the time he had taken over the ship by melding with the computer.   
_As if we hadn't *heard* that one already,_ Guinan thought - quietly, of course, since rumor was going around that the empathic counselor was in a bad mood. She headed over to the replicator to gather drinks for Barclay's fan club. She hadn't asked what they wanted, of course. It was easy to tell. "Three Arcadian fizzes and a Sizzling Romulan Tamale," she stated simply to the machine. The order appeared on a tray, and she picked it up with a swooping gesture, ready to head over to the corner of the room - until she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the hiss of the double-doors. Turning her head slightly, she saw a very upset-looking Geordi enter the room, and winced (gracefully, of course). Another customer. And she already had to deal with Data and the annoyance of Barclay, and a sorry-looking group of ensigns who had congregated around a close group of tables in the center of the room, each of them wound up in their own glum thoughts.   
Sighing, she headed over to the 'happy table' as Geordi slumped into a chair behind her. "Here you go," she said, plunking the drinks down on the table. "A Sizzling Romulan Tamale, and...one, two, three Arcadian fizzes." Nobody responded in the least to her presence. They just continued to laugh at an absolute *vile* pun that Reggie had just uttered. Guinan resisted the (strong) urge to roll her eyes, and settled for grinding her teeth in annoyance.   
Winding her way through the tables filled with depressed people, Guinan finally made it to the other corner of the room. She stopped in front of Data and folded her arms, waiting patiently for him to stop pouring synthehol down his throat. The android's arms were a blur - there must have been more than fifty glasses on his table. After a couple minutes, he stopped moving abruptly, and merely swayed mechanically in his seat, peering at Guinan through half-closed eyelids.   
"What...can I help you with, Guinan?" Data was obviously trying to fake a slur.  
"You can help me figure out why you just consumed as much synthehol as our resident 'drunk' on a good day."  
Data just swayed some more. He blinked slowly. "What...can I help you with, Guinan?"  
"Cut the act, Data," Guinan spat irritably. "I don't have the time for the theatrics today."  
"What act? I am not an actor." Data had stopped swaying, but continued to slur. Guinan sighed and shifted her weight to the other foot, looking down her nose at him.  
"Why are you drinking so much, Data? You're just wasting supplies."  
"I am trying to-" here he faked a hiccup, "-induce depression. I have noticed that..." Data paused to swallow loudly and blink again. "...I have noticed that depressed humans have a tendency to drink a great deal of alcohol..."  
"And you wanted to try it?" Guinan was getting really annoyed now. "Data, you don't have emotions. You couldn't get depressed if your entire family died, your girlfriend left you, and you lost your job in the same day! Besides," she scoffed, "you're drinking synthehol, not alcohol, so you can't *possibly* get depressed *that* way." Guinan leaned down on the table-top to glare into his half-closed eyes. "So cut the act."  
Data cut the act.  
"I am merely trying to simulate the situation of drinking alcohol. I thought that synthehol would be only fitting as *it* is artificial, and *I* am artificial as well. My holodeck program failed to succeed, and the Captain restricted my holodeck use anyway, so the idea occurred to me that I could induce depression by *acting* depressed. Do you think that *this* idea will succeed, Guinan?"  
Guinan started grinding her teeth again. "May I ask *why* you're going to all this trouble to get depressed - oh, the hell with it. I don't care, Data! Just stop wasting supplies! If you want to drink something, drink water! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cheer up our chief engineer, so..." She walked off rubbing her temple underneath her gigantic round hat. Data stared after her for a moment, then fell back into his act.  
"Geordi," Guinan called a little too sharply, on her way over to see him. He looked up in surprise, and Guinan removed her hand from the side of her head quickly. "Geordi," she said more softly, trying to fall back into her usual collectedness. "What seems to be bothering you today?"  
"You might want to sit down," Geordi said, slumping farther down into his chair, "this could take awhile."  
At this point, Guinan, impatient with her job and just generally annoyed by everyone's constant requests and/or everyone's *ignoring* her, stood solidly in her spot. "No, thank you, Geordi," she said a little too coolly.   
Again Geordi looked up in surprise. "Oh - okay, Guinan. Well, uh, the trouble is..." he stopped and sighed. "...Data's been making this depression program in the Holodeck."  
All of a sudden, Guinan exploded. A cry of exasperation resounded through Ten-Forward as Guinan ripped off her elegant maroon headpiece and threw it across the room like a frisbee. She stomped her way out of the room flailing her arms and crying, "That's it! Tell Picard I quit! There's no *way* I'm listening to you people anymore!" The door shut behind her with a hiss, and Barclay, who had had to duck when Guinan's hat had come flying at him, continued laughing and chatting with his newfound friends, him being only person who was feeling truly pleasant in Ten-forward.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, in Sickbay...  
  
***  
  
"So you're telling me the headache meds didn't work, Captain?"  
"No."  
"No they didn't or no you're not telling me that?" Beverly leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples.  
"No they didn't."  
"Didn't I give you permathol?"  
"Yes."  
"Ten ccs?"  
"Yes," came the dull voice through her commbadge.  
"And it didn't work?"  
"It didn't work," he repeated, obviously bored.  
"Well, I don't understand how that wouldn't have any-" She looked up as someone pounded on the glass of her office window. "I'm afraid I can't speak to you right now, Captain, could we continue this discussion later?"  
"Yeah, whatever." Beverly gave her commbadge an odd look before tapping the link shut. Then, looking up again, she watched the second-in-command slouch into her office and pick up her hypospray.  
"Commander, what are you-"  
"This is the stuff you used on me, right?"  
"Yes, that's it," she said tiredly, leaning back into her chair once again, glad of the extra comfort provided for medical officers.  
"Hmmph," said Riker, twirling the same chair he had twirled before and straddling it in the same way. Crusher blinked at him. He blinked back. He was looking considerably more depressed than he had been before. In contrast to the aura surrounding the Commander now, his *previous* mood could easily be compared to the demeanor of Richard Simmons (Note: Boo! Hiss! Wait. Does anybody still *remember* Richard Simmons? Didn't think so). Whereas before Riker had sat up straight, he was now slumped against Beverly's office chair, appearing to everyone in Sickbay to be the most tired officer on the ship.  
"Commander, is there anything I can help you with, or are you just going to waste time by making inarticulate noises and comments at me all day when there's a ship to run?"  
Riker rolled his eyes. "I *came,* Dr. Crusher, to see if you could give me some *better* *happy pills*. 'Cause these, quite frankly, suck."  
Crusher was taken aback. 'Suck' was not a word often uttered by Commander Riker, and, even though he was dumb as an ox (Note: This is *my* Riker now, okay? I know the real one's not really as dumb as an ox. He's just as dumb as a boar. That's a slightly higher intelligence level), he usually had more tact than your run-of-the-mill second-grader. Beverly leaned across the table and looked into Riker's eyes, and it was quite easy to see that he wasn't faking his depression. Putting her hands on the table, the medical officer said: "You're the second person today to complain about the treatments I've administered. Now, either I'm getting sloppy, or *you* people are just so convinced that the drugs I prescribe won't work that...they don't work." With that she slumped back into her chair again.  
Riker stared at the table, and Beverly got the chance to watch him clean one of his back molars in an utterly grotesque way. Finally he looked back up at her. "I think you're getting sloppy, Doctor." Riker stood up and left the room.  
Beverly turned her eyes to the heavens (not that there're any heavens in space, but...you get the idea), hoping for a divine light to come and take all her problems away. _Am I really getting sloppy?_ On a whim the doctor leaned forward and put her head on her hands, perhaps to take a quick nap, but suddenly-  
"Mo-oooooom!" -Wesley appeared in front of her desk. Sighing, she pushed herself back up again and leaned onto the back of her chair. Her son was obviously on a whining rampage; he had that look on his face, the one that she dreaded day and night. "Wanda was-" The young tyrant stopped to look at the chair in front of his mother's desk. "Why's this chair turned around?" he wondered aloud. Dismissing it, he put it into its proper position and put on his whiny face again.  
"Yes, what is it, Wesley?" Crusher was doing her very best to look (and sound) motherly, as she usually strived to do when she spoke with Wesley.  
"I was gonna show Wanda my Button," he started in his most nasal voice, "but then she said that I'm a dork, and it was a really *cool* Button, but now I'm not so sure if it was cool anymore." His lower lip quivered in faked upset and he looked up at her with his best puppy eyes.  
  
***  
  
Bum-bum-BUM! And she cuts it off in another cliff-hanger. ::evil laughter:: That's right, I made a huge update, but...I'm not going to tell you what happens next! Not that you particularly *care* what *happens* next...I'm guessing you just care what's funny next. Ah, well, more hilarity next update.  
Aren't you glad Fanfiction.net's up again? So am I. 


	9. That was where the real trouble started

Here it is, folks! Chapter nine. Be amused. Be very amused.  
  
***  
  
Sickbay was quiet. Too quiet. So quiet, in fact, that the only thing you could hear, for that tiny moment in time when all was nearly silent, was Nurse Ogawa bursting into tears in the other room. Then things got noisy in Doctor Beverly Crusher's office again.  
  
Sighing in exasperation, the CMO(1) looked at her son over her hand, which was now occupied with rubbing the bridge of her nose. Those puppy-dog eyes, which had once been cute, even heart-wrenching, in those first few years after Jack died, were now *grating* on Beverly's nerves. "Wesley, I really don't have the time for this right now," she said, the epitome of exhaustion.  
  
"But, Mom, m-my Button, and Wanda was being so mean to me-"  
  
"I don't want to hear it." Abruptly, Beverly stood up and walked over to her shelves to examine a tray of medicines. Wes just stuttered at her turned back.  
  
"B-but she was mean to me, and I-I, my feelings were really, they were really hurt, and I-I-"  
  
"Wesley," she cut him off sharply. Her voice had taken on a dangerous quality. "I don't want to hear it right now." Beverly was at the end of her rope of patience, and it was a frayed end. She had really heard enough. Reports coming in from all over the ship of depression, anxiety...it was all too much. Patients were refusing treatment, really, and now the first two officers of the ship were claiming her prescriptions were not effective! It was too much. Turning back to her for-now silenced son, she glared at him over the end of her nose, setting her jaw in that angry way that she reserved for special (and I mean *special*) occasions. "Get. Out."  
  
"But, but Mom..." He made a final desperate plea to her, his ego seriously on the line.  
  
The force of her gaze told him that there would be no "buts," today.  
  
Wesley Crusher, long-time whiner, the Enterprise's biggest egomaniac, slowly withered under his mother's eyes and backed out of the door until it hissed shut. Beverly watched him go through her window, and as soon as he exited Sickbay, she collapsed into her chair, then onto her desk with a muffled thump. Anyone watching would have been waiting a while to see her move. And in the other room, Nurse Ogawa's sobbing went on.  
  
***  
  
Worf settled back into his bubble bath, pink bubbles floating lazily around his normally scowling face. Contrary to what he might have previously thought, he was quite enjoying this. Ha! He sure showed that Counselor Troi! The powerful Worf, son of Mogh, could stand up to *any* test that chanced to fall in his path. A very rare, toothy grin appeared on Worf's face as he breathed in the scented air that was rising from the bubbles. Hmm, pink. Not quite as feminine a color as Worf had thought. Perhaps he could-  
  
Hissss. "Dad? What - what are you doing?"  
  
Worf's eyes widened, and his face quickly formed into his usual angry expression. Well, maybe a little angrier this time. "Alexander," he grunted. "How many times do I have to tell you to *ring* before you enter the bathroom?"  
  
"Are those...bubbles? What - what's this?" Alexander, incredibly suspicious, walked over to the edge of the tub and picked up the empty container of bubble bath. His jaw dropped as he read the label. "Bubble bath?!" he said incredulously.  
  
The older Klingon scowled. "It was a challenge from Counselor-" He didn't get a chance to finish.  
  
"You're having a *bubble* *bath*?!" Alexander's voice dripped fury. "You won't let me join the cheering squad! You won't let me play *Frederick* in our school play!! And you're taking a *BUBBLE BATH*?" He was screaming now. "I..." Pausing, he pointed one finger, shaking in rage, at his father. "I *HATE YOU*!" Then he bolted out of the room.  
  
The remaining occupant of the bathroom was going through a great deal of inner turmoil at this point, once he recovered from his state of shock at Alexander's outburst. On the upside, the boy was finally starting to show a bit of his Klingon heritage with his anger. In fact, who knew what he was doing right now? He could be off destroying things. On the downside, he *was* taking out this anger because of Worf.  
  
And he might have to face the truth. His son *was* showing homosexual tendencies. On any other occasion, Worf would have roared "NO! I WON'T BELIEVE IT!" to the empty room, but perhaps it was time to face the facts. His son...was...gay. He also had to face the fact that a mere *moment* before, he had actually been *enjoying* a *bubble bath,* a decidedly un- Klingon (but more importantly, un-*masculine*) thing to do. Was he gay - too? No. It couldn't be. Could it?  
  
Worf faced all of these thoughts that were stampeding through his head, pondering with much emotion life's little mysteries...and he did this without one *twitch* of a facial muscle.  
  
Quietly, not making the slightest ripple in the water, Worf slid underneath the bubbles and did not re-emerge for a good long while.  
  
***  
  
Geordi was doing his personal best not to blink excessively after Guinan made her - erm - *stunning* exit from Ten Forward, but DAMN, was it hard. Finally, he recovered enough to say: "Wow," before remembering his *reason* for being in Ten Forward, anyway. Sighing resolutely, he let his eyes scan the rest of the room before pushing his suddenly-tired body out of its seat, and heading for the one other place a person in his condition might think to go: Sickbay.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, poor little Ensign Greenwood was on the bridge - panicking. The Captain had disappeared into his ready-room several hours before, claiming he had a 'headache,' Commander Riker had called the bridge on his commbadge not long after, mumbling something about 'happy pills,' the second officer of the ship had barely been seen for two days (something about a personal project, and taking sick time to complete it), Lieutenant Worf had just gotten off his duty shift, and was apparently having domestic troubles, nobody wanted to even *tell* him why Counselor Troi was missing, the good Doctor Crusher was swamped in Sickbay, so *she* couldn't take over on the bridge, while there was no one besides *another* Ensign in charge of Engineering. Not to *mention* the way that everyone *else* on the bridge was *very* reluctant to accept Greenwood's commands, considering that he was of the same rank, and considering their incredibly downtrodden state. All in all, it was turning out to be a very bad day for Ensign Greenwood, and things didn't appear to be looking up.  
  
Letting out a shaky breath, our pitiable Ensign sat nervously down in the command chair, looking rather miserably up at the screen. Nothing was really happening in this sector, and for that much he was grateful. Suddenly, a chunk of - something - flew through the screen's field of vision. Greenwood watched it go past almost idly, then jumped out of his seat. "Ensign," he barked, his voice cracking (hadn't he always dreamed of command? Well, ~gulp~, now was his chance). "What was that I just saw on the screen?"  
  
"Who cares?" replied the woman at ops, practically draped over her console.  
  
"Yeah," seconded the guy at the helm, slumped onto his as well. "Who cares?"  
  
"Well - well, *I* care, for one, a-and I'm sure all of the-the people on this *ship* care..." Ensign Greenwood started.  
  
"Shut up," came from the officer at tactical, behind him. "You think you're better than us? Well, you're not." This was said tiredly, not rebelliously.  
  
Greenwood still took it to heart, not being used to command, let alone being *critiqued* about his command styles. "Well - well -"  
  
"Yeah, you're no better than us," drolled the woman at Science Station 2. "Who are you to boss us around?"  
  
Poor Greenwood was still trying to get his sentence out. He turned to her and continued, "Well - well, well - well -"  
  
"Why don't you just *scram* already? We're tired of you."  
  
"Yeah, why don't you stop bossing us around?" There were general mumbles of assent from the rest of the remaining bridge officers.  
  
"Well - well...if-if that's how you feel about it, th-then I guess I-I'll go."  
  
"Meh."  
  
"Whatever." Greenwood didn't hear this as he walked, in a daze, to the Turbolift. Once inside, with the doors closed, he curled into a fetal ball and whimpered as best he could manage.  
  
***  
  
(1) Chief Medical Officer  
  
Huzzah! And there you have it, folks. Utter chaos. :D This fic is making me so happy. I have great plans for it! Well, actually, it's going to be wrapping up pretty soon, but if you give me a new idea, I might do another one like it! Yeah, that'd be cool. I really appreciate the response that I've had from this story, it's really cool the way I get more reviews for this story than for any other story that I've ever written. ::tries not to cry and fails:: I love you guys!  
  
Now, ~ahem~, write me a few more reviews and I'll consider writing another chapter. ::big goofy grin:: 


	10. A wave of guess what depression

You know, Altra Palantir, that thing about Reg dying of laughter is a really funny idea. Unfortunately, it doesn't really fit in with this awesome idea I had for the end...but maybe, just maybe, I can make it work in a later chapter. :D  
  
And Laura, I'll try and make this chapter longer, 'kay? ^_^  
  
***  
  
"Do you think that was very 'stupid' of me, Spot? Do you think that everyone will hate me from now on?" Spot growled from under the bed, flattening her ears to her head. Had Data been human, he would have sighed heavily. "Spot, you are not assisting me in my endeavor. Why do you not help me accomplish this?" The cat turned and disappeared from his sight, leaving Data looking at the bedspread.   
  
This wasn't working. Nothing, it seemed, was working. The holodeck hadn't helped him at all. No luck from the drinking in Ten-Forward. And now that he had dimmed all the lights in his quarters, and was trying his very best to lower his self-esteem, still no luck. He slumped back into his seat, forcing himself to hunch his shoulders.  
  
Of course what he was doing right now went against all his logic. He knew that. But he also knew that there was a slim possibility that he could make a breakthrough in his work to become more human. To become more like his crewmembers.   
  
With barely a twitch of an eyelid beforehand, Data stood up and headed to go try another tactic.  
  
***  
  
Commander Riker stared at the readout. Fifty mistakes. He'd made fifty mistakes. And here he thought he was a real swingin' jazz artist. Hell, he was probably bad at everything else as well. Pushing himself up from the computer console and dropping his trombone on the floor of his quarters, Riker headed for the bathroom. He stared into the mirror. Wow, was he letting himself go. Without bothering to trim his beard, he tried to make himself look halfway presentable to talk to the Captain, but his heart just wasn't in it. "Remember, Will," he told himself upsettedly in the mirror. "You're a real lady killer."  
  
He lacked his usual confident stride in the corridor. What was the use? No one thought he was important. It was when he got into the turbolift, though, that his spirit reached an all-time low.  
  
"Hello, Commander. Lovely day, isn't it?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, yes, lovely, Barclay," he replied, obviously not believing that it was a lovely day in any way at all. How could a day be lovely? They were in outer space! Nothing was lovely! Nothing except the women…and they certainly didn't think that *he* was lovely…not after that horrific performance on the trombone…  
  
Before he even knew it, Riker was making his way across the bridge. There weren't that many people on it. Not that he cared. The door to the Captain's ready room slid open.  
  
The lights were off completely. "For God's sake, step away from the door!" came a cry from the couch, and Riker quickly moved away from the entrance to the room, allowing the doors to slide shut. They were engulfed in darkness. "Mmmnnngh."  
  
"Uh. Sir?"  
  
A rustling noise came from the couch.  
  
"Sir…"  
  
"Yes, yes, yes, what *is it*?"  
  
Riker cleared his throat ashamedly. "I've come to resign, sir."  
  
"Good. All right. That makes two of us. Let's celebrate. Get some liquor."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Oh, that's right, all there is is that damn synthehol garbage. Well, get some of that anyway--the kind that burns when it goes down your throat, if you can manage it."  
  
Riker complied, and held out a glass of synthehol to the slumped form on the couch. The only light came from the replicator, and he could just make out the form of his Captain. "Sir? Permission to speak frankly?"  
  
"Yes, go ahead," a dismissive hand waved at him.  
  
"Life sucks."  
  
"Ohhhhhhh yes."  
  
***  
  
Doctor Beverly Crusher, long-time professional, caring mother, famous throughout Starfleet for her talents in the medical world, and daily miracle-worker, hurled an antique egg-timer against the wall. Its shards joined the rest of the wreckage on her office floor, now completely worthless. She was just about to hurl a small, delicately-made cuckoo clock that she'd fetched from her quarters when Lieutenant Worf poked his head through the door. Stopping in mid-throw, she looked at him, annoyed.  
  
"Sorry to disturb you, Dr. Crusher. I was wondering if you might help me. I've been having some…family problems."  
  
"Why didn't you go to Counselor Troi?"  
  
There was a long pause. "She didn't seem…interested."  
  
Beverly gestured tiredly at the seat opposite her own, which she presently slumped into wearily. "What happened?"  
  
"It's about Alexander. He and I…had a little disagreement," Worf shifted uncomfortably. "He wanted to be in his school musical, and I forbade him from doing so. Was I wrong?"  
  
Rubbing a temple, she answered, "Why wouldn't you let him participate?"  
  
"I was afraid of him becoming--too friendly with other boys. But now…" he cleared his throat.  
  
"I see. Well, too bad for you, Worf." Picking up the cuckoo clock again, she stood up and prepared to chuck it against the wall.  
  
"'Too bad for...'? What are you doing?"  
  
"Smashing this," she said, doing so. "What does it *look* like I'm doing?" She reached for a porcelain statuette of a ballerina, assuming a baseball pitcher's stance.  
  
"Are you having a bad day as well, Dr. Crusher?"  
  
"Nope. Best *freak*--" the ruins of the ballerina joined the rest of the junk on the floor "--in' day of my life. The day when I realized that--unh--" a little glass clown flew through the air and impacted the wall "--I'm a sucky-ass doctor, and that--" the shards of her 'Best Medical Officer of the Year' award rained down on the carpet "--I can't help anyone. And I have one--" a trio of crystal bells went sailing across the room "--whiny-ass son to boot." Her litany finally stopped, considering that she had run out of things to throw. She searched the room with her eyes as she added one last comment. "All in all, it's been a *fab*ulous day."  
  
Worf took a few seconds to process all this. "Oh."  
  
"Ah!" The glass cabinet door swung open, and suddenly tripods and scanners were being lobbed at the wall.   
  
"At least you have figured out a way to deal with it in an honorable way," Worf said, backing out of the room slowly.   
  
"Uh-huh. Can't help you, Worf." A hypospray flew past his head. She added as an afterthought, "Sorry."  
  
But by then he was gone.  
  
***  
  
Wow, that took me a really long time. And, again, I apologize. It shouldn't take me that long to update. But, guys, prepare for an end to this story! It should take me, at most, three chapters to finish. ::hugs everyone:: It's been a long journey, hasn't it? 


End file.
